Happy Birthday to Me
by kevarianna
Summary: In his fortieth birthday, Sebastian wrote a heartfelt letter to his husband. / T-rated: slight mention of sex. slightly not blaine-friendly. implied kadam.


**This was inspired by an Indonesian book **_**Rectoverso**_** by Dee, the short story **_**Selamat Ulang Tahun**_** (English: Happy Birthday). Pardon for the wrecked English. Have a good day/night!**

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><p><em>September 25<em>_th__, 2034_

_Los Angeles_

Hello, baby.

It's me again. It's 25th of September; my birthday. I'm now officially forty years old. It's crazy how fast time can go, yeah? Sometimes I just feel as if our first meeting was just an hour ago or something like that and I'm now forty.

_Forty_.

I feel old. If you were here, you'll still be thirty-eight as you jumped classes while in school. Because your impeccable intelligence, obviously. You're probably the only person that can be high but still able to study every night. It's really endearing to see you study while babbling nonsense; usually about me.

Baby, I miss you. I miss our birthday tradition. Remember when it was your 27th birthday? We were in the other sides of the world that day. You were staying back in America while I had to attend a fashion week with one Kurt Hummel—he's doing great, btw. Adam has been treating him real good, unlike that bastard Anderson—and when I called you at 12am your time, you were crying because I wasn't there. Your parents came, the Warblers came, heck even some of the New Directions came to our place to celebrate your birthday; but not me.

The show ended by evening and by then me and Kurt were too exhausted to even check our husbands' condition—_we barely even had time to sleep, __**fuck**_—and when we arrived in LAX, it was already the next day. Neither of us was sober enough to call you or Adam, so we opted for the cab and we went to Kurt's as his place was closer.

We literally passed out on the door. Adam even barely had a chance to kiss Kurt welcome when we did; he dragged our lazy asses down the hall and into the master bedroom. He immediately called you and you came an hour later, still trying to catch your breath. (Or that was what Adam told me anyway.) You came to the bedroom and straddled my waist, peppering my face with kisses and sweet nothings. You eventually fall asleep on me, I guess, as when I woke up Kurt was already gone and you were still on top of me, hugging my body everywhere in any way possible.

When you took me back to our place, I took care of you. I kissed every inch of your body as I whisper a '_happy birthday_' at every kiss, and you were blissful. I can't forget how beautiful you looked that night.

I also remember when it was my thirty-two birthday. My Dior photoshoot was finished by midnight and I came home at 2am or something like that. When I unlocked our door, I found you sleeping on the couch, your laptop on your lap with your glasses still perched on your nose. It's a beautiful sight; but then again, you are beautiful.

…You _were_ beautiful.

I kneeled at your side and closed the lid of your laptop and moved it to the table as I nuzzled your neck, occasionally giving you some love bites. You woke up and looked at me immediately. We didn't say anything by then; we just looked into each others' eyes for quite a moment until you put one hand on my cheek, stroking it as you whispered '_happy birthday, Sebastian_' in a sleepy daze. I told you to sleep.

Baby, I miss you so much. You always make my days brighter. Even when I'm on a destructive mood, you can just slur and make my day a bit better and I'll be happier. Baby, remember that time when you proposed to me? You just fell down on your knee when I immediately said yes. We laughed at how-so-_How I Met Your Mother_ it was, but I just knew you were going to propose and I just knew what my answer would be.

It would always be yes.

Baby, Juliet just got into high school. I enrolled her into the school you've been talking about ever since we adopted her. She's doing well in school, minus her getting into some fistfights and caught smoking.

She's our child anyway.

Sometimes I would laugh when I remember our high school times. Getting caught sneaking in at the wee hours in the morning, smoking and taking shots (I smoke. You were the one taking shots), bailing each other out of juvie… They're all wrong and silly, yeah, but isn't that how we fell in love with each other?

I still keep some of my old cigarette boxes. They're empty and now a bit yellow-y, but they represent the best times of my life; of _our_ lives. I didn't keep your syringes, though; they scare me enough.

Baby, I miss you so much… Why did you have to leave? Where's my husband when I need him? Juliet is no longer the girl she used to be when you left us. I'm no longer the man I was when you left me. Why did you have to go? You weren't even in the army! You were supposed to grow old with me and watch Juliet marry and have children of her own! Not…not…

I most remember that fateful day. It was three years ago anyway. It's still fresh in my mind. I was _sitting next to you_. You were waving at the crowd, campaigning for governor. I was sitting next to you, Juliet in front of us, waving to the people of Sacramento when it happened.

A bullet went through your heart.

I… I know it wasn't your choice. It was his; it was _Blaine Anderson for fuck's sake, Hunter_. It was BLAINE. It was my first actual high school crush who killed my husband.

I was heartbroken. I lost a friend. I lost an enemy. I lost a husband. I lost _a lover_. But most importantly, I _lost a part of me_. _I lost myself_.

You were me as much as I was you. We were inseparable, remember? I even visit you in your office every day when I'm in town. I would Skype you when I'm not. You would do the same too; when your work is done, you would visit me wherever I was; on set, on the studio, _anywhere_.

We were inseparable and you were forcefully taken away from me.

I'm…

_Hunter, I love you so much_.

I can't live without you by my side. Looking at Juliet… She's basically the replica of you in attitude. Heck, even she resembles some of your features. You're not even her biological father _but she looks like you and it hurts_, Hunter.

I can't take it. It pains me when I had to drive Juliet to school. I had to hear her talk _in your voice_, I had to see her dance _with your moves_, I had to see her dress _and look her posture that looks exactly like yours_, I had to _see you in her_.

It hurts, baby. I can't stand it. Sometimes I would just lash at Juliet because of how much she reminds me of you. I would end up crying and she would be the one consoling me in the end. I'm such a bad father.

Hunter, with you, I'm _complete_. With you, I can be myself. I don't need to cover my face from the paparazzi because I had damp eyes from crying too much. I don't need to cover my body from them because I haven't eaten much. I don't need to cover anything because I was trying to move on and _failed miserably_.

The past two years, on my birthday, I was home. I would be sleeping at my side when I woke up by myself at four, hoping to see your face an inch away from mine, grinning wide and saying happy birthday to me and shower my body with your kisses, but…none. I had none of that.

But today, I stayed up all night writing this letter so I wouldn't wake up to a hollow dream. It's my only wish every year, baby. I never told you my New Year resolutions even when you asked, but in every resolution I would always put '_get a birthday wish from Hunter_' in number one.

Ever since you died, it's the only resolution I never accomplished.

Baby, I…

I love you. Goodnight.

.

.

.

_Happy Birthday to me,_

_Sebastian Smythe-Clarington_


End file.
